


“I Loved You Once”

by AhmedA01



Category: 1960s Music Scene RPF, British Singers RPF, Music RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AhmedA01/pseuds/AhmedA01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“George flung his head back, a mocking laugh escaping his lips. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he chortled resentfully. ‘Do you even remember the last time that we worked together on a song? Or even the last time that we spent any fucking time together? Do you?’ he questioned angrily, his hands shaking. ‘Fucking plenty has changed and you know it.’”<i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	“I Loved You Once”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. Unfortunately.

Filtered sunlight slowly trickled through a small, gritty, rectangular window, the first rays of the rising sun illuminating the darkened studio as the delicate strains of a single guitar filled the small cramped space. A steady stream of variegated tones burst forth, rising and falling in a short interval of time, the musical notes mimicry of the irregular patterns of light that bounced of the dingy grey walls. A head crowned in a tousled fringe of dark brown hair was bowed gently over a battered acoustic guitar, a steady gaze trained on nimble fingers flying over the frets, helping to create the chords deftly strummed by a second set of calloused fingers. Foot tapping on the polished wood floors and body gently swaying in the high backed chair to the rhythm of the music, the lone figure smiled softly as his song slowly took form.

A loud creak and screech followed by the heavy thumping of wet boots against the hardwood floors suddenly shattered the calm, the music coming to a sudden halt as a gust of chilled air swept into the warmth of the studio, the door unceremoniously flung open, granting entrance to a shivering body.

”Bloody fucking hell,” the newcomer muttered under his breath as he stomped the vestiges of snow that clung to his heavy black boots, the flimsy white powder crushed underneath thick soles, leaving a wet imprint in their wake. Rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to generate warmth, the man grimaced slightly at the feel of the damp coat that hung from his lithe frame, the thick material clinging in patches to his back, giving of an uncomfortable chill. Sighing in frustration, the dark-haired man pulled the jacket from his back, throwing the offending material onto an unoccupied chair as soon as his arms were free. Cupping his cold hands around his mouth, he blew a stream of hot hair onto the chapped skin as he turned around, hazel eyes widening in surprise as his gaze landed on the room’s initial occupant.

“George!” he exclaimed in surprise, his cheery voice booming through the quiet room, a jarring sound to sensitive ears. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Paul,” George acknowledged as he looked up briefly, not quite meeting his mate’s eyes as he nodded his head in faint greeting. With a tilt of his head, he glanced down at his hands as they rested on his guitar, fingers plucking random notes to occupy them. Looking up briefly he continued, “I suppose I could ask you the same question.”

Walking somewhat clumsily across the room, heavy boots marking each step with a dull thud, Paul lowered himself gingerly into a chair across from George, settling down comfortably before answering.

“I was walking Martha in the park, but it got too damn cold,” he answered with an unconscious shiver. Stretching his legs out as he placed his arms behind his head Paul continued, “So, I decided to stop in here for a while. Maybe work on a song or two.”

“Where is she now?” George asked, feigning interest, his gaze still focused on the acoustic that lay in his arms, his fingers gently skimming the slick surface.

“I had Mal take her back home in the car,” Paul replied, “Better than having her hear tied up in the garage for the rest of the day.”

“Oh,” was George’s distracted response as he began playing the chords he had been playing earlier, before being interrupted.

“What’s that then?” Paul inquired eagerly as he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as he took a closer look at George’s fingerings. “Is it a new song?”

Backing up imperceptibly, George self-consciously stopped playing before giving a succinct response, “It’s just a little something I’ve been working on.”

Not noticing the slight change in George’s behaviour, or perhaps simply disregarding it, Paul leaned increasingly forward, his hands enthusiastically reaching towards the guitar, a blinding smile on his face. “Need any help with it?” he queried excitedly, eagerly relishing the thought of working on a new song.

The distant look removed from his face, George sat up, his arms holding the guitar close to his body as he looked up at Paul, his dark eyes flashing in quick anger, his response cold and bitter. “No thanks mate,” George ground out. “I’m quite capable of finishing it on my own.”

Slightly taken aback, Paul stopped moving forward, his arms frozen halfway between him and George as he raised his gaze in astonishment. Not knowing what to say, the older man’s mouth opened and closed, before finding the appropriate words. “Damn, no need to get your knickers in a twist. I was just offering my help.”

“When I need your bloody help, I’ll ask for it,” George shot back fiercely, his voice dripping with bitterness as he looked at Paul from under heavily lidded eyes. “I don’t need you or anyone else interfering while I write me own songs.”

With an exasperated look on his face, Paul regarded George, much like an adult looks upon a petulant child. “Fuck, George” he began with a shake of his head. “Why do you always have to be so damned stubborn? It’s not like we haven’t written together before. I don’t see what has changed all of a sudden.”

Nearly throwing the acoustic guitar at his feet, George flung his head back, a mocking laugh escaping his lips. “Jesus Christ!” he chortled resentfully. “Do you even remember the last time that we worked together on a song? Or even the last time that we spent any fucking time together? Do you?” he questioned angrily, his hands shaking. “Fucking plenty has changed and you know it.”

With a genuinely confused look on his face Paul slowly sat up, his back ramrod straight against the hard wooden chair. “Like what?” he asked, almost fearing what the answer would be.

His eyes closed, George took a deep breath before answering, attempting to get his anger under control. “John,” he retorted, his eyes slowly opening and focusing on a small speck of dirt on the sleeve of his shirt.

Bewildered, Paul’s voice held a note of wonder, his mind unable to grasp what George was trying to convey. “What does John have to do with this?” he inquired slowly.

George shook his head in resignation, his voice still biting, the words flowing out of his mouth as if they had been rehearsed. “John has fucking everything to do with this,” the younger man replied with deathly calm. “Ever since he came into the bloody picture it’s been John this and John that. The two of you treating me like a fucking child half the time and that’s when you actually remember that I exist.”

With a slight edge to his voice, Paul shot back. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” the younger man uttered, the emotion draining from his body and from his words. With a sigh, he trained his gaze on his guitar, his eyes blankly taking in the slight indentations, the grooves, the silvery strings that delicately caught the light whenever the instrument moved. Not looking up, George continued slowly, “You of all people should remember just how much things have changed between us. Or can you not even bring yourself to think about it anymore? Fucking ashamed now, are you?”

Paul looked at George, a sudden realization dawning on him, his face taking on a slight shade of red as he tried to find the right words to say, anything that would absolve him. “George,” he pleaded, “Calm down. I never meant… to treat you any differently,” Paul implored haltingly, unsure of what to say. “I never even realized that I had. As for what happened between us before, I don’t know what to say. Just that… ”

As Paul rambled on; a short bitter laugh was ripped from George’s throat, the hoarse sound effectively halting Paul’s ineffectual stream of words.

The laughter dying on his lips, George sat back, passing a hand over his tired face. With a tired sigh, George looked up, meeting Paul’s repentant gaze for the first time. His eyes were a swirling abyss, anger jealousy, hate, love, and resignation mirrored in the dark depths, contradicting the tone of his voice, a voice which was now devoid of all emotion.

“Paul,” he began in barely a whisper, his voice trembling slightly. “Nothing can change what happened then, what happened afterwards, or what may happen in the future.” George closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds before opening them again, his eyes trained steadily on Paul. “I loved you once and it nearly killed me when you threw away everything that we had once meant to each other. Talking about it now doesn’t change a thing. Please don’t make me live through it all again, it was hard enough the first time.” Turning his head away, he continued in a hoarse murmur, “Please, leave me in peace.”

With a look of shocked sadness etched on his pale face, Paul stood on shaky legs, his boots pounding against the wooden floorboards as he stumbled towards the door. Grabbing his coat from the chair, Paul turned once towards George only to find him looking down at the instrument in his hands, much like the way that he had found him not too many minutes earlier. Opening the door, Paul quickly let himself out, the door slamming behind him, a dull echo vibrating throughout the entire building.

George finally looked up, his gaze lingering on the closed exit for a brief second, before returning his eyes to the acoustic, the delicate sounds of a single guitar soon filling the room again, filtered sunlight slowly trickling through a small gritty, rectangular window.

_Oh, yes you told me you don’t want my lovin’ anymore. That’s when it hurt me and feeling like this I just can’t go on anymore._


End file.
